Hampshire. December. Sunlight.
That’s: Hampshire. December. Sunlight. 
We’re in the field, just by the way, rather than on the path, because the path is hip-deep. And hip-deep is a conservative estimate.
Blue! Sky! Fluffy! White! Clouds!
Be still my heart.
Mmmmmm. This is one of those ‘I live here’ days.*
And a few hurtling hellhounds.
In the next frame, which I didn’t get, he’s gonna nail 
yo’ ass. . . .
This is Darkness’ standard ploy: he waits till he can cut across Chaos, and then . . . bam.
. . . And rain again by sundown. *
* * *
* Well. Let’s say mornings.
** True. Sigh.
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